


Partners In Crime, Pt 2

by specificlatentheat



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Childhood Friends AU, Fluff, High School AU, M/M, No Angst, i think, i watched fairy tail such a long time ago, just including main characters (cos they’re all i remember), just really wanted to write something for this ship, so idk anything, sorry gonna make lucy and sting siblings, totally unoriginal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:11:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/specificlatentheat/pseuds/specificlatentheat
Summary: It’s so easy to fall into a routine.7.00 WAKE UP7.20 SHOWER7.50 BREAKFAST8.05 PICK UP STING8.20 LEAVE STING’S HOUSE8.30 SCHOOLBut between 8.05 and 8.20, on a freezing Monday morning, sitting at Sting’s battered kitchen table, Rogue has an epiphany. Mondays will never be the same again.





	Partners In Crime, Pt 2

His bathroom was sparsely decorated; there wasn’t much in terms of colour except for the alternating blue tiles and the matching ombré shower curtains. On the wall hung a silver trimmed mirror, which spanned from the ground to the ceiling. 

Rouge stepped towards it and stared at his blurry reflection, squinting as if to dispel the condensed steam. He pushed his finger to the glass and drew out a line with his first and second finger, before just swiping at the mirror with the palm of his hand. 

He saw his dark hair slicked back from the shower, and immediately pulled it forwards, flattening it against his forehead. He didn’t want a repeat of the dreaded gym showers incident, where he had accidentally let his hair dry into a sort of floppy quiff. It had allowed him to see rather well, however it had given Sting yet another reason to laugh at him- how stupid he looked with his hair sticking up.

The reflection pulled at his hair, his fringe falling to cover more than half of his face. He looked in the mirror to find only one eye staring back, his eyes wide but his iris red and beady, more bird-like than human. His nose was partially covered too, but with the scar still visible underneath, dark and ancient looking. Rogue couldn’t think of a day where he hadn’t had that scar, when he hasn’t been weathered and washed out by the world. 

He supposed he would have used make-up to cover it, if he was really bothered by it. To him, it just served as a reminder: he knew that he would never be conventionally attractive. So why would he bother?

He towelled himself off and put on his school uniform, stepping out of the steaming bathroom while buttoning up his sleeves. The steam seemed to make the shirt stick to him, but before he could complain, or change shirt, the fire alarm started blaring. He slammed the door shut quickly, and turned on the exhaust, before facing his problem. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, quickly looking around for something to give him a bit more height. He had to be quick before it woke up his family: even though he was alone on the top floor, they would probably hear the fire alarm’s screech. 

He grabbed his thickest textbook, and stood up to his full height, on his tiptoes. He hit the alarm with his textbook multiple times before the sound stopped, when he exhaled and let himself droop again, drifting towards his bed so he could flop onto it dramatically. 

‘It really isn’t my day today,’ he thought to himself, already feeling the headache coming on.

He reached towards his charger and yanked his phone off, texting Sting, expressing this sentiment of irritation, who just replied with a selection of emojis and question marks. ‘At least he’s awake,’ Rogue thought, glad to not be the one waking him up again, after being late every day for a week last week, because he would always feel too awkward to wake Sting up. 

‘I’ll explain when I get to yours,’ Rogue texted Sting, before pulling his blazer on, popping his phone into the lining pocket on the inside of his blazer. He knew he looked like an emo prick in his school uniform, especially with the black blazer with red borders, matching his hair and eyes too well, shade perfect. 

He just worked it to the best of his abilities, putting on a dull coloured scarf and pulling some thick gloves out of his drawers and into his pockets as he pegged it down the stairs.

In the kitchen, he poured some cereal into a bowl and then poured some milk in afterwards, switching on the television to look at the weather forecast for the day. The woman on the screen pointed to a rudimentary drawing of a rain cloud, and he shovelled the sugary cereal grains into his mouth, trying to keep in his mind that he needed to bring an umbrella to school. 

‘It’s going to rain today,’ he texted Sting for another time that morning, and added ‘remember to bring a jacket.’ He would always forget, turning up in his thread-bare blazer and rolled up pants, and then complain about how he couldn’t have known, and what a pain it was that he had to wear his track hoodie home. 

It was Rogue who waited for him beside the track field, on days like that (if he felt like it). 

Rogue waited for him a lot, actually. He would wait for him then- after washing his dish and then grabbing his bag and umbrella, he’d travel the meters between their houses and then knock on the door firmly at least three times. Usually up to a minute would pass before he’d hear the pounding of feet come towards the door before it would swing open, revealing Sting’s older sister. 

She was pretty decent, as older sisters go. Lucy Heartfilia had been his adoptive sister for over eight years now, and she had definitely grown on them. When she had first arrived, they would exclude her, having been friends since they had moved into the same neighbourhood, they just didn’t see why they had to play someone other than each other. She must have been lonely, playing with her dolls and writing in brightly coloured spiral notebooks. 

Rogue could recall, even now, the awkwardness he felt for leaving her out. He knew better than Sting, he knew they were freezing her out (as Sting was oblivious to these things) but he went along with it, because he wanted to keep his friend. Her only friends seemed to be her dolls, and she could only honestly talk to them. She would talk to her foster parents and her foster brother, but for a long time she wouldn’t break out of her shell, as she would act polite and kind, never saying how she truly felt. 

But then came along Natsu, the boy who moved in between the two houses. He invigorated her. Suddenly she was smiling, and her dolls went up onto her shelf; she enjoyed each day he was around, because he made her life much more fun. He organised games of manhunt with the children who lived nearby, and as soon as the game started, Rogue would run back home and watch some more television. 

Sting would run around with them, and they soon built up a ‘neighbourhood gang’. Rogue would (unfortunately) be dragged into it sometimes, whichever crazy scheme they thought of next. One day, they would be budgeting their corner store ventures, and the next they would be setting up a car washing business in order to fund these corner store ventures. Whatever they did, Lucy was smiling, because she wasn’t left out anymore. 

She became bolder, braver, and more friendly as time went by, becoming closer to her family and also to Rogue, even though he would never admit it. It was her or Sting who would rope him into their plans, and he could never say no. Just like the time she had made him take care of the hamster she had stolen from her friend who wasn’t feeding it properly- or the time they had made him confront the man in the corner store who hadn’t given them correct change. 

She became a constant leading figure in his life. She was Sting’s sister after all, and Sting looked up to her, so Rogue did too. 

This day, at the door was not Lucy, but in fact Sting. He took longer to run to the door, and his face was red and he was puffing. “Sorry man,” he unlocked and opened the door fully, “Lucy’s refused to open the door, she says you know what you’ve done.” He was in a state of undress, shirt done up wrong halfway down. 

“What?” Rogue groaned, he was not in the mood for this on a Monday morning, “I seriously have no idea what she’s on about.” He sighed and pushed past Sting, walking into his kitchen and pouring out a bowl of cereal. 

“Don’t ask me, I think she’s mental,” Sting replied, shrugging his shoulders and walking back up the stairs. Rogue poured milk into the bowl and grabbed a spoon, placing it in the space opposite to him. 

“Don’t spend too long, your cereal will get soggy,” Rogue complained, but before too long had passed, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He turned back to see Lucy walking towards him with a strict frown. 

“What have I done this time?” He asked with a sigh, pushing the dish he’d prepared towards her as she sat down, maintaining her angry facade.

She began to eat the cereal in front of her, “nothing... Except, you just ignored my text last night.” She gave him a look, her voice rising to an 100% more annoying level at that time in the morning.

“Sorry, I probably didn’t read it,” he tried to avoid the conversation, grabbing his phone out of his blazer pocket and pretending to look for a text.

“Yeah sorry, it’s just not here,” he shrugged, looking at her last text. 

It read: ‘IMPORTANT: STING. Come over RIGHT NOW!!! We’re watching West Side Story and Sting’s sad........ I think he needs someone (read: tall, dark haired, handsome, best friend since diapers) to comfort him.’

It was easier to pretend he hadn’t gotten the message, than try and understand what went through her head, and why she texted him to matchmake with Sting, of all people.

“No, you totally did,” she shook her head and smirked knowingly, “you have read receipts on.” He’d been caught out because he never learnt how to turn off read recipts.

“Ah damn, sorry. I didn’t want to ignore you, but..” he trailed off, watching her face. She seemed to be enjoying herself, especially because of how awkward the conversation was.

“But?” She at least attempted to hide her laughter, giving him a moment to piece together his response. 

“But... What’s all that about?!” His voice rose slightly, and he turned away slightly to try and hide his blush.

Whatever he felt about Sting was none of her business. It was his. He was working through it. Somewhat. Or maybe it was more like he was ignoring it and hoping it would go away. 

Either way, it really wasn’t any of her business. 

“I think you know,” she tapped her nose with a giggle, “secretly admiring your childhood friend is cool in the movies and stuff, but don’t you want something to happen? He should know!”

Her voice was getting too loud for Sting to just be upstairs. “No!” He exclaimed under his breath, “not under any circumstances, not even if I die and you’re performing a beautiful eulogy about unrequited love, he is not to know!”

“Ha, so you admit,” she banged her hand down on the table and leaned in, “there is something to know!” Rogue’s eyes widened and he leaned back, holding the back of his chair. 

“No,” he replied stubbornly, “you’re acting stupid.” He itched his ear awkwardly, as she leaned further forwards. 

“Do you not think about him before you go to bed? When you wake up? Do you not want to comfort him when he’s upset? Have you never looked at him, and truly believed he’s the only one for you? Like you don’t know how you’ve survived without him?” She asked him rapid-fire, and all he could think to reply was ‘yes! Yes! YES!’ 

It all fell into place as he sat there, wide mouthed. This was his place, right there at the kitchen table- he had always been there, and he would always be there, as he couldn’t imagine being without Sting. Her questions all hit close to home, as he realised he held the boy in question very close to his heart. 

Sting was stood behind the entrance to the kitchen. He had his back against the door and his fingers clasped tightly around the door frame. She was repeating almost word for word the words he had said to her, while explaining his feelings. Rogue had always been there for him, when nobody else had. 

“I,” Rogue took a deep breath, “I feel like I could understand,” he was cut off by Sting leaning further forwards, making the floorboards creak. Classic. What a plot device. 

Sting walked in, faking casual, and grabbed a bowl from the shelf. In his mind he was cursing himself and his bad timing, wondering what Rogue would have said next. Would it have been a calm rejection of the idea? ‘I could understand what you’re saying, but I just don’t have any interest in him, you’ve obviously misinterpreted me somehow.’

Or would it be ‘I could understand where you’re coming from! This line of questioning has made me fall completely and irrevocably for my best friend since childhood!’ The likelyhood wasn’t so high. 

But as he sat down to the table, he realised many things. Lucy was giggling, and nudged him with her feet under the table. Rogue was glowing a light red, and his eyes were averted as far away as possible. 

“I, I think I’ve forgotten something at home, I need to go grab it,” Rogue stuttered out, possibly in the most adorable way Sting could have ever dreamt of. 

“We need to start in,” he checked his watch, “uh, 3 minutes, so I’ll meet you outside, yes. Uh, out there.”

“What? Don’t want to walk with me?” Lucy pretended to be mock offended, “it’s ok, I understand why, I don’t mind.” She winked and then giggled some more, and Rogue scowled at her. He stormed out, albeit a bit immauturely, and Sting slumped in his chair as soon as he left. 

“Best wingwoman ever,” she sung to herself congratulatorily. Sting ignored her, and sat there with a slowly growing grin on his face.

That blush on Rogue’s face really meant something. He just had to figure it out. How hard could that be?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment or some feedback if you feel like it! I’m such a bad writer, but trying to get better!! Have a great day!:)


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